


It Clicked

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom John Watson, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, mini PWP, toplock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 18:25:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11469159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Little mini pwp. Something clicks between John and Sherlock.





	It Clicked

It was bound to happen. Doing what they do, adrenaline rushes, moral rewards, and the soon to come adrenaline crashes. It was only a matter of time before they came together. 

It was abrupt. It was unexpected and unplanned and uniquely them. 

Another case closed. Solved. Stashed away in John's memory for the blog. Sherlock had likely already deleted most of the case details (as he deemed it only a four). They were giggling, or rather John was, Sherlock had schooled his face to a blank slate, except for the almost wolf-ish smile that covered a large portion of the lower half of his face. 

They made it up the stairs and into the flat. John turned towards Sherlock, likely to make a clever comment on how the prime suspect tried to run, but he was never able to speak. He was at a loss for all words as he stood and looked at Sherlock. To his credit, anyone in John's position would be stunned to silence, as Sherlock looked at him with a hunger so core-shaking that his want was palpable in the room. John, the poor man, was never one for sexual tension, so he bid Sherlock a good night (it was nearing 2:00 am) and slowly made towards his bedroom. 

He barely made it a step. 

John's efforts to cut short what was in motion were to no avail. Without any preamble, Sherlock had grabbed his wrist with his long, slender fingers and pulled John to him. Shocked and unprepared for Sherlock's sudden grip, John had no choice but to stumble into Sherlock's chest. 

They froze. They were on the cusp of something life changing, and they both knew it. 

It was Sherlock who moved first, he tilted his head downwards and closed his arms around John's torso, successfully encasing him against his chest. John let out a breath neither of them knew he had been holding and raised himself to meet Sherlock halfway.

And just like that, they were kissing. Perhaps what they were doing was more than kissing; it was the intertwining of their souls, the last step before they finally tore down all barriers between themselves and became one. 

Their noses bumped together as John stood on his toes and let Sherlock's tongue slip past his lips. It was cool, and foreign inside John's mouth, but he let himself keen for more. More of Sherlock, more of anything. 

Sherlock berated himself for not doing this sooner, for not seeing that this is what both men had wanted, needed for so long. He had not planned on doing anything tonight. On this ordinary night, no different than any other; but John had looked angelic, he was laughing with that sweet bubbly voice of his and Sherlock had thrown all sense over his shoulder and let desire take control.

When their lips first made contact, Sherlock had wanted to be gentle, to take his time. But as he held John against him and licked his way into the smaller man's mouth he could no longer hold back.

He devoured John. Exploring every crevice of his mouth and doing things that made John whine and press himself closer to Sherlock. 

With sudden realization, John felt as though they were wearing far too much clothing, too much between the pair. Both were still clad in their coats from being outdoors. 

Sherlock may have made the first move, but it was John who rid himself of the first few pieces of clothing. His jacket was unzipped so he unbuttoned his shirt and slid off three layers all at once (those being his coat, cardigan, and button up). He was left in only a plain white undershirt and he felt goosebumps arise on his newly uncovered skin. Sherlock hummed in approval and broke the kiss to quickly follow suit. Soon Sherlock had successfully taken of his scarf, coat, and shirt. 

Sherlock sensed that John was feeling a little uneasy so he tenderly took John's hand and led him to the downstairs bedroom. 

Shoes,socks, and John's t-shirt were lost along the way as both grew more restless the closer they were to the bedroom. Once there, with the door shut, a sudden pause came. The two were standing close together in the dark room, processing what they were doing. What they were finally doing. 

Always one step ahead of John, Sherlock pushed him towards the bed and eased him down onto the mattress. John gasped as Sherlock lay on top of him and caged him in with both ivory elbows on either side of his head. They gazed at each other. For one moment Sherlock actually seemed hesitant, but as John's breath quickened with anticipation, Sherlock grew bolder. He reached for John's zipper and quickly stripped him of his trousers. He helped John do the same for him, and then both men were left in just their pants in a far too plush bed. 

Sherlock had a predatory grin on as he leaned down and barely scraped his lips over John's neck. He enjoyed that it had caused John to shiver quite violently. Then without warning, Sherlock dipped his hips and slowly rubbed his growing length against John's. The friction brought a sudden urgency to the matter as pants were thrown across the room and messy kisses were exchanged. 

Sherlock found himself particularly fond of biting in to the sensitive skin of John's neck, it caused a wonderful sound to escape John's mouth.

John was taken aback by how Sherlock knew exactly where to nip and kiss to bring him to a quivering mess. And soon enough, John could hear himself pleading. For what? He had no idea. But Sherlock seemed to know as he reached for the bedside table and fumbled for a moment, breaking the fluidity of their activity. 

John did not look at what Sherlock was getting, he knew, and he wanted it, he needed it. He hadn't done anything like this since he was in the army (and god he missed it). 

Sherlock slid his hands up John's practically hairless legs and eased them up so that John's feet were flat against the mattress. He uncapped the lubricant and generously wet one of his fingers. 

John was squirming exquisitely at this point and Sherlock relished in the fact that he could bring John to this point of whimpering. He captured John's lips with his own, and with careful, teasing touches, slid his finger between John's cheeks. He felt John stutter within the kiss and tried to soothe him with gentle, prodding licks at the back of his mouth. 

John could feel Sherlock's finger at his entrance, waiting for some kind of permission, so John opened his eyes and met Sherlock's gaze within the kiss. And that is all that's needed as Sherlock slowly, milimeter by milimeter sank his finger into John's hole. Once the finger is down to the last knuckle Sherlock knowingly poked around feeling for that one spot within John. He knew he found it when John gave a yelp. 

With that Sherlock lubed up another finger and continued to stretch John with two fingers, and then three. And after an indistinguishable amount of time, when neither of them could wait any longer Sherlock pulled his fingers out. He takes a breather to just stare at John's gaping hole, it was reflexively twitching in a delicious manner. But with one desperate moan form John, Sherlock addressed the task at hand and placed his prick between John's cheeks and thrusted home. 

As John increased in volume, Sherlock increased his pace. John reached his hand down and stroked himself to the eradict rhythm of Sherlock's movements inside himself. John was hot all over, inside and out; Sherlock felt feverish as he continued to work. 

John came with the most beautiful sound Sherlock had ever heard, it was throaty and wrecked and the most authentically John sound to ever exist. Sherlock came shortly thereafter. 

Both men were sated, tired, and currently covered with cum. The inner doctor of John screamed that they should have used a condom, and the inner restlessness of Sherlock begged for them to clean up and do something. But they both lay still. Sherlock now beside John smiled and was about to say something annoyingly witty when John moved to lay on his side, facing away from Sherlock, and reached back to pull at him until Sherlock was spooning up behind him. They layed there like that for hours, not sleeping, but not talking. They didn't need to. 

That was always bound to happen.

And It really is no surprise that it happened many times after that.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed my little pwp! This was kinda (totally) ooc. So I'm sorry about that, but otherwise, what did you think? Thanks for reading!


End file.
